The Blank Stare
current mood: blank
current song: The Killimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble - Mephistopheles
I find myself in a state of anhedonia. I feel nauseous as if I've swallowed a gray flatness that I can't digest. Nothing tastes good. Even a shower fails too reach me. I perceive a fragmented experience. There, that is my back, I feel the heat and the drops of water hitting me so fast that I both feel each drop and something like the flap of a curtain. There are my ears, hearing the woooosh, feeling the reverberation of the steady force. But I do not feel the feelings. They end there at the back, at the ears. The rest of me has nothing to do with them. No value can be given to what is so distant. I stare at the wall, stare at the shadow. But it is no different than if my eyes were closed.
I feel the sickness, the sickness of having swallowed so much wasted life these past weeks of sitting at home with no one and no hope. I feel the sickness of future days of nothingness until some day in January when I return to school and perhaps live again. Perhaps not. But I will at least see people in class and they will hear my voice there...unless I forget how to speak to people. They will all be strangers to me and not to each other. I will be like an immigrant. I have been there longer than they have. They will perhaps remember my hair or what I wear and what I've said in class. They will know nothing more nor care too. They already have their lives and I will not go to their parties because I will know no one. I am like a vampire, you must invite me in or I will not come.
This morning I felt tired and nauseous but I was washing Kagemusha and it was beautiful. There was little to their lives it seemed. War and ceremony and death, but it was done beautifully. The wind and rain the very dust was a poem told by Kurosawa. I would rather have that beauty even if it meant that violence. It seems better to revere something, to die for honour rather than to live a small life of boring dinner parties and boring lives and superficial yuppies who pretend to be deep. Yes, I also watched a Woody Allen movie, Hannah and Her Sisters. There was some slight wit, I suppose, and somethings meaningful were said, but the most meaningful were undercut by their delivery by a nervous scrawny joke of a man. It was not beautiful. I want my life to be beautiful...and I don't just mean on the surface. I want everything to be pervaded with beauty...even if that beauty is beautiful and short. I hate stoicism, but better stoicism with poetics than pleasantries and desperation...than smallness.
Do you understand what I mean? I think I am alone too much. I have forgotten how to communicate.
I tried reading Never Let Me Go. I have been trying. The premise is interesting, but I tire of reading about it. I feel pity, but I already know what happens and I am tired of reading about cattiness and social dynamics that aren't really dynamic at all. I suppose I should try reading something else before I lose my love of literature.... I used to read so much on breaks and I don't anymore. It is lost. But I must wait until I feel again. I have lost my taste for anything. I feel no desire. I tire of writing this. I don't even want to sleep. I stare.
This music is dark and beautiful. I suppose....
The only thing worse than the worst feeling is to have no feeling at all.
Touch me, something.
